


Quarantine

by phantomchajo



Series: The Misadventures Universe [12]
Category: SilverHawks
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomchajo/pseuds/phantomchajo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A contagious illness on Fense traps a pair of unlikely allies who are determined to beat the odds, if they don't kill each other first</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> Why by Stabbing Westward

 

Quarantine  
By Lady MoonHawke and PhantomChajo

Quicksilver pulled the Sprinthawk into position behind an asteroid and shut the engines down, letting the ship drift in the space rock's low gravity. If his calculations were correct, Phantom and her over-powered skimmer would be flashing by any minute.

He watched the reports from the remote beacons as they flashed in, tracking her as she left Bedlama, breezed past the station, and skirted Dolar on a direct course for the Penal Planet, Brimm*Star and the Light Year Limit beyond.

"Just a little faster," he whispered to himself. She was pushing the maximum speed now. Any raster, and he could legitimately stop her for reckless flying and get a chance to find out what she was hauling for the Mob this week.

The speed indicator gave a shrill chirp as the HummingBird flashed past, and Quicksilver grinned, powering up. "Gotcha this time," he said, pulling into pursuit.

She had cut the comm off several minutes ago. She got tired of that ass, Quicksilver, demanding she 'pull over' for a speeding violation. She didn't have the time for this bullshit. She didn't even have the throttle half open when he started pacing her. He even pulled along side of her and started making gestures, demanding that she stop. All she did was give him the finger and open the throttle more.

That's when he made the mistake of firing across her path. She couldn't risk damaging the precious life-saving cargo she had in the back by pulling any high-stress maneuvers, so she opted for just cutting the throttle back to nothing and engaging the braking system.

Quicksilver ended up overshooting her when she did that and had to come back around, this time facing her almost nose to nose with the Sprinthawk. He was treated to the angriest expression he had ever seen on her face as she flipped up the visor.

"How dare you fire on me!? I have clearance for this run since I'm carrying emergency medical supplies."

"I highly doubt it. I know you're running something illegal for the mob," he retorted.

"You fucking son of a bitch! The hell with you then. I don't have time for this bullshit and neither do the people of Fense. I'm taking this up with the commander." She cut the com again and did a 180, heading straight for Hawk Haven.

By the time Quicksilver got back to Hawk Haven, the Hummingbird was already there and the twins were on the ramp to the cargo section, looking though everything. Phantom was no where to be seen.

As soon as he parked the Sprinthawk and got out, he was paged.

"Lieutenant Quicksilver, Steel Twins! My office. NOW!" the commander barked over the PA system.

The twins gave him a look as if asking what was going on, because as soon as Phantom had landed and gotten out of her ship, she told them to check the cargo out then headed for the lift. Her voice had such a commanding tone that both jumped to do as she told them.

No one spoke a word on the trip up to the Command deck. Upon exiting the lift, they crossed over to the hall leading to the Commander's office.

"Hey Will, what's going on? Phantom just came though a few ago with such a thunderous look on her face." Bluegrass asked as they passed by him at his station.

"No idea cowboy, but we're gonna find out," he replied over his shoulder.

And find out they did for as soon as the Commander's door was opened, they heard a very irate Phantom growling at the Commander.

"..And I don't fucking give a shit, old man. I have Priority Red clearance to deliver medical supplies to Fense. IF Silver Britches had paid attention to what I told him in the first fucking place, none of this would be occurring and I'd be half way to Fense."

"She's just using that as an excuse to deliver something to the Mob," Quicksilver said as he entered, giving a quick salute to the Commander.

Phantom whirled about, her expression was still 'thunderous' as Bluegrass described it. "I'm tired of your 'holier then thou' attitude when it comes to those people."

"It doesn't change the fact you are running shipments for the mob."

"Fucking Hell you worthless ass kissing bastard, I'll show you 'running shipments'," she growled taking several steps towards him, her fist cocked back ready to deliver a wicked punch.

Neither of the twins made a move to intercede between the pair. Secretly both agreed with Phantoms assessment of Quicksilver's attitude problem when it came to Fense.

"CAPTAIN VERNADEAU, THAT IS ENOUGH!" Stargazer shouted, lunging up out of his chair.

She whipped her head about glaring at the Commander, her arm still cocked back. She snarled then let it drop. Even renegades obeyed orders when THAT tone was used.

He waited for her to back off, then continued. "I am WELL aware of your feelings, I'd say. There's no need for you to continue. What is the situation now on Fense?"

"At last count 50% and climbing on the infection rate. I have the last batch of serum available in all of Limbo. More is being cooked up but that will take time. This stuff is old, but still viable."

"I didn't realize it had gotten that bad. Probably should have when I didn't hear... Well, anyway, this little detour obviously hasn't been very helpful. Lieutenant," the Commander snapped, and Quicksilver jumped forward at attention. "I'm assigning you TDY to Phantom here, to assist with the crisis on Fense. Don't bother to pack a bag, you probably won't have time to sleep anyway. When Phantom leaves here, you're leaving with her." He looked from one of them to the other. "That's an order."

The Lieutenant looked as if he was sucking on sour lemons, but saluted sharply. "Yes, Sir." He turned to face Phantom. "Orders, Captain?"

She growled under her breath. "Get something to cover up that 'Here I am, oh shoot me now' armor and be in the hanger in 1 minute."

"Yes, Ma'am." He saluted again and left the office. To say he was not happy was an understatement.

Phantom turned on her heel, not bothering to salute what so ever.

"Zan..." Emily started to say as Phantom passed her.

"Can it, Red, I don't have time." She retorted as she stormed out of Stargazer's office. She was pissed as hell at getting saddled with Quicksilver, but at the moment more hands would be welcomed. Even if those hands belonged to a SilverHawk.

When she reached the hanger, Quicksilver was waiting next to the HummingBird in his regulation warm-up suit. She ignored him for the moment and made sure the cargo hatch was sealed properly then climbed in.

"Get aboard, sit down, shut up, strap in and hang on," she said as she brought the engines to life from their idle setting with one hand as she tightened the chin strap of her helmet with the other.

He had managed to strap in just as she engaged the engines. The walls of the exit tunnel went past in a blur as they left faster then even Bluegrass dared to take it. They had barely cleared Hawk Haven before she put the throttle to full and a moment later she engaged the Light-drive, forcing him back into the seat from the pressure.

"So what exactly is the situation?" he asked once the pressure eased a bit.

"I thought I said something about shutting up," Zan muttered from the pilot's seat. "I lost close to a fucking hour thanks to you, but I might be willing to sacrifice another hour to dump you out the airlock. Might even be worth it."

"Suit yourself. I'll walk into the situation completely unprepared and screw everything up because you wouldn't tell me what was going on. We'll start with an easy one. What's the serum for?"

She was silent for a moment, and he could hear her teeth grind over the noise of the engines. "TB," she replied shortly.

"What?!"

"You heard me. TB. Tuberculosis," she enunciated. "Consumption. The white plague. Take your pick." The ship was a blur-green streak, aimed right at the Light Year Limit.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "No one gets TB anymore. Everyone gets inoculated against it as an infant."

"Not everyone," she replied darkly. "If your lucky enough to be born on Earth, or Bedlama, or New Eden, or any other place with modern medical facilities, yeah. You'll probably get the shot and never have to worry about it. But if you're not, if your folks can't afford medical care." She shrugged. "It's there. I'm not wasting time asking why or how."

Brimm*Star flashed by in a red blur, and they hit the Limit. Zan throttled back slightly, and they careened through the chunks of flying rock and ice.

"I thought you were trying to protect the vaccine," Quick said through clenched teeth.

"I'm in a rush," Zan gritted back. "Any time you want to leave, feel free."

They burst through the fringe of the asteroid field and within minutes, the ship was stirring up dust on Fense as they slipped slowly towards the surface. They touched down next to a battered gray and green limo Quicksilver recognized as belonging to the Mob. He struggled with his straps, eager to jump out and apprehend its driver, but Zan stopped him.

"Get this straight, right now, right here, Golden Boy. This is Fense, which means it's out of your jurisdiction the moment we passed the Limit. You try your normal bullshit here and I'll see to it you get your silver ass thrown off this rock faster then Mon*Star chasing after gold." She jabbed him in the chest several times as she spoke. "Stay here until I come back."

Hopping out, Zan approached the Wicked Zoomer and its pilot. "What are you doing out here, Hardware? People are dying. D'you want to be one of them?"

"Mel called. She said there was trouble with one of the refrigeration units, so I snuck out."

Phantom's demeanor softened slightly. "Is Mel okay? What about Eric and Jamie?"

"They're fine," the mechanic said gruffly. "Ricky's hiding out here somewhere, too. The Boss is raging again."

"What is it this time?" Zan sighed.

"The SilverHawks, what else? Most of Limbo's been seeded with data relays. Gettin' hard to get around without gettin' spotted."

Zan threw a quick glance back at the HummingBird. "I know the feeling. What happened to the fridge units?"

"It's not the units. It's the gennies. The cold cases you brought in are a little old, but they're reliable. The generators aren't in so good a shape that they can power 'em all. Or they weren't. They're okay now."

"I brought the last of the units this run. Will the generators hold if I hook them up?" Phantom asked, concerned.

Hardware scratched his head. "I dunno for sure. How long will the batteries last?"

"A few hours at best. They're only designed to run on battery power for transport."

Hardware frowned. "You might try to convince someone to transfer the stuff into the fridges that are already running. Those gennies won't last long if you keep hooking up stuff to them."

"Assuming I can find someone who has the time to listen to me." She sighed tiredly. "Okay, then. You'd better get out of here before I let my traveling companion out."

"Who've you got with you?" he asked, craning to see past her into the ship.

"You don't want to know. Hole up somewhere quiet for a while. Things are going to get bad here."

"I've got news for ya, sister. They're bad already. See ya around, Phantom." He hopped in the Limo and blasted off.

She heard gravel crunch behind her and turned around to see Quicksilver approaching. He was staring at the departing vehicle with an expression akin to someone who had seen a prize fish break the line and swim away. "Thought I told you to stay in the ship."

"Thought we were in something of a rush. Chat on your own time."

She turned and stalked past him back to the ship. "Get your ass over here then and help me unload this stuff. And don't drop anything; these crates are heavy and fragile."

Quicksilver snorted. "Charming."

He followed her back into the cabin. "Where are the dollies?" he asked, looking around.

She offered him a sardonic look. "What dollies? The ground out there is too uneven to make wheels useful, even if this stuff weren't so damned fragile. We're schlepping it in by hand." She tossed him a long fiberglass pole with cables dangling off the ends. "Hook those to the boxes and get to lifting." Quickly, she hooked up two sets for herself and slid under the poles, lifting four crates at once.

"We're in a rush, after all," she reminded him, navigating carefully out the door.

It felt like the shadows were colder then normal, but she knew that they were not. Moments later they exited the shadows into the dimly light marketplace area. Instead of booths and displays, row upon row of pallets could be seen. The booths had been disassembled and stored along the walls. She didn't pause to look it over, she had watched the event unfold from the beginning. Her destination was the Patch-n-Go which was about half way down the wall and down a small corridor.

"I never knew this was here," Quicksilver breathed, looking around in amazement.

She managed to ignore the sounds coming from the plague victims that were laid out on the pallets. The hacking labored coughing that was a continuous background noise. It wasn't that she was unconcerned that she acted as if it was nothing, it was the fact she knew she could do nothing for them other then attempt to get them treatment in time.

When she turned the corner she looked back. Quicksilver was looking about like a rubber-necker at a traffic accident. "Come on, we still have another several trips. You can look later."

The moment she passed the doors of the Patch-n-Go, she was converged upon by several people, all going for the boxes she carried. Half of them she didn't recognize off hand and was leery of handing over the items.

There was a tugging at the elbow of her jacket, and Zan looked down to see spiky red hair and pain-filled brown eyes. "Ricky? What's wrong with you? Don't tell me you've got it too."

"Nah," he said. "Got into an aggro with the boss. 'E got a couple of knocks in before I snuck out." His arm was wrapped in a clumsy bandage.

"Are you okay?" Zan asked, leaning her poles against the wall.

"Better 'n some. But 'e gave me arm a twist. Bloody hurts."

Zan offered him a sympathetic smile. "I'll see if I can get someone to look at you. Then scoot yourself back to my place. There's trouble about."

"No joke," he agreed darkly, flopping back into his chair and wincing.

Zan ruffled his hair quickly, before he could duck out from under her hand, then picked up her poles, headed back out the door.

Quicksilver followed her, still cataloguing the number of pallets in rows, the number of rows, the size of the marketplace area itself. "There must be close to 500 people here," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Zan agreed quietly.

"What's to stop this from spreading to Bedlama?" he asked, horrified at the sight.

"Nothing," she replied in a dead voice. "Absolutely nothing."

Back at the ship, she snarled at him when he offered to take the last two cases for her, so he could only follow, toting a load of blankets she'd crammed into the corners of the cargo hold.

He caught the glances on the second trip. The looks of fear, of loathing, the pointing and whispering among those well enough to notice. The wave of hate and revulsion was enough to force him to pick up his pace and catch up Zan as she stalked up the aisle.

"They don't like me much," he said quietly.

She snorted. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

A clod of dirt whistled past his head. "I think the flying missiles were the first clue."

She snorted again. "Really?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I don't get it."

An arched eyebrow. "Here and now is not the place to discuss it so you will get the run down on why later."

"Well, that helps. Thanks heaps," he replied snidely.

"If you want to stand around and discuss it we can. But there are things that need to be done and few people to do it. And I would rather be doing that then fending off an angry mob." She hitched the pole across her shoulder higher and moved off a little faster, taking the invisible circle of her protection with her, forcing him to keep up.

"What's so wrong with law and order?" he asked as they pushed through the doors into the clinic.

"Nothing, in theory," she replied as the supplies were unloaded. "But when it's applied unevenly, when people are severely punished for the smallest infraction, it tends to breed resentment. And most of it is aimed right back at the embodiment of that 'law and order,'" she said, flicking a finger against the SilverHawks unit patch on the arm of his jacket. "And you stand out like a sore thumb. Or a bull's-eye." She looked around, then nudged him toward a dim alcove. "Stay out of trouble," she instructed. "I'm going to make sure this stuff's getting to the right people." Without another word, she disappeared through a set of swinging doors.

It was quiet through the swinging doors, and Zan moved quickly through the narrow twisting corridors toward the storage area. The low growl of the third-hand generators grew to a rumble then a dull roar as she approached the cold room. Pushing through the insulating plastic strips over the door, she tugged her jacket closer around her thin frame. The underground rooms of Down Below were normally cool, and with the addition here of an old AC unit, the room itself was actually quite chilly.

She waited for the young woman across the room to look up from her clip board, then gestured for her to step outside. Conversation in the room was next to impossible, thanks to the noise of the generators and the girl's sound-baffling earmuffs.

"How does it look, Mel?" Zan asked, once they were out in the relative quiet of the hall.

She fiddled with the controls on her board a moment, tapping the stylus against the edge. "Good news first, or bad news?"

"Let's end on a high note. Give me the bad."

"I've counted all the cases of vaccine twice. We're going to run short."

Zan stared at her for a moment, then growled and turned, slamming her fist in the rock wall. "Fuck!" she shouted, cradling her injured hand. "We ain't even close, are we?" she asked.

Mel shook her head. "There's enough for about half the un-vaccinated population at this point. The doctors did say that number will go up..." She trailed off.

"And I've hit a wall. There's none left anywhere in Limbo right now. More is being produced but that takes time and so does shipping it in from elsewhere. Time we don't have," she sighed.

Mel reached out to rest a comforting hand on Zan's arm. "You did everything you could on that end," she said encouragingly. "Dr. Richardson thinks it's time for some other measures now. He wants to be sure no one's lingering around the Warrens. He also said..." She took a deep breath. "He said we need to start working on an accurate body count," she said hastily.

"'Bring out your dead, bring out your dead' " Zan said in a craggy British accent. " 'Ere ye go.' 'But 'E ain't dead yet.'" She shook off the moment of dark humor. "What's the good news?" she asked dispiritedly.

"You remember Dr. Delvido, who ran this place before Dr. Richardson?" Mel asked. When Zan nodded, she continued. "He very generously donated back to the clinic a supply of blankets and IV stands and other equipment."

Zan nodded tiredly. "That is good - Wait a minute." Her head snapped up. "Wasn't he practically run out on a rail for embezzling or something?"

Mel nodded, a wicked little smile coming to her lips. "Or something. He doesn't know yet that he donated all his carefully hoarded goodies. Maybe we should send him a nice note after things calm down."

Zan sighed and shook her head. "Tell me you were careful. Or better yet, don't tell me anything about it at all. And listen, lie low for a while. I got shanghaied to the Big Birdie Nest on the way, and came away with a hanger-on. I don't think he'd recognize you, but Golden Boy seems to have an 'arrest first, ask questions later' attitude on." She pulled her hat off and scrubbed a wrist across her forehead. "I'll get to work on the Warrens. Are we doing anything about the kids? I haven't seen them roaming as much."

"They're all being collected in one of the warehouses, those that are still healthy, at least. And another warehouse has been converted temporarily into a place... somewhere to put."

"A morgue," Zan said sharply, then regretted it as Mel winced. "Sorry. I'm going to track down some paint, and I'll get on the Warrens. Maybe Lieutenant Stick-Up-His-Ass will enjoy a little walking tour of the best our little burg has to offer."

John watched the traffic in the small waiting room flow and swirl in barely contained chaos. Patients moved in and out with no system he could see, sitting and moving as they pleased, with no regard for order or contagion. No nurses assessed or quarantined the obviously sick, and the doctors seemed to treat whomever was closest to hand when they deigned to appear from the rabbit-warren of rooms beyond the swinging door.

He all but itched to step in and impose some kind of order on the bedlam. But recent events had convinced him that his was the last voice anyone here wanted her hear, even if it was the voice of reason.

Phantom emerged from the back areas with a look on her face that said things were not good. She just jerked her head at the doors, not speaking. She headed towards one of the small shops that was still open, figuring that Quicksilver would stay close unless he wanted to end up as one of the patients to the clinic. Inside the shop she grabbed a backpack and an armload of spray paint cans.

He followed, and once they were outside, she slapped a canister into his hand, saying nothing. He looked down, juggling it around until he could read the label. "Oxo Chromium Red. What's this for?" he asked, following her.

"You'll see," she replied shortly.

"What? Are we going to indulge in a bit of constructive graffiti?" He continued to follow her as she made her way to a warehouse and into an office, pulling a small camera out of the desk. This she kept for herself, smacking him flat in the stomach with a clipboard.

"Hold that," she instructed. "Keep up, and pay attention. No need to make this worse by mis-identifying someone."

They trailed quickly through a maze of narrow lanes, and Jon noticed right away the marked doors, windows, and in come cases, walls. Bypassing the upper levels and nearest areas that had already been tagged, she lead him down to the deepest part of the Warrens. The levels where only those that have literally no where else to go stay.

Zan led them down a dim narrow corridor then stopped, knocking on the unmarked door. There was no answer, and she grasped the handle, turning it easily and pushing the door open.

At one time, the room may have been a naturally occurring cave, but it had been painstakingly chipped into a roughly rectangular shape. A rough wooden table and two chairs stood in the center of the room, and an equally rough bunk was pushed into one corner. Small niches were carved in the walls, and carefully folded bits of ragged clothing were stored in them. Moisture ran down the walls, and the smell of mildew pervaded the room, mixed with other, less pleasant aromas.

Jon wrinkled his nose, then dropped his visor, inhaling a deep breath of flat, filtered air. "What is that smell?" he asked, looking around. "Smells like something died in here," he muttered.

"Lots of things," Zan said evasively. "And I don't see any bodies here. But if we get through this area without finding one, I'll be shocked."

Jon turned to face her, visor sliding back up. "You have got to be kidding me. People don't just die in hovels anymore. That's for bad movies that air in the middle of the night."

"I have a news flash for you, Lieutenant. This IS one of those bad movies. These people are living their own personal horror show here, and the only thing keeping it from getting any worse is this. Now we need to clear these corridors, and clear them fast. So hide behind your mask if it helps, but keep working and keep up, or I'll leave you down here, and it will be your bones their pulling out in another half-century."

It didn't get any better as they made their way down the twisting passageway. The smell worsened noticeably and the jury-rigged electric lights flickered annoying, casting everything in nerve-wracking moving shadows. Zan seemed unaffected by it all, stalking ahead of him with a feline grace that seemed untouched by the by the stench or misery around her.

"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked after the fifth or sixth empty hovel they'd checked. "Does any of this calamity touch you, or are you just a cold-hearted bitch from hell?"

Zan whipped around from where she was spraying a large red '0' on the door. "It touches me a hell of a lot more than you do. Somehow I doubt you understand any of what's going on here. If it wasn't for the Old Man's orders you'd still be back in your safe little haven complaining about the 'Lawlessness' of Fense and the surrounding areas."

"This is all so stupid," he railed, waving his arms. "Why can't these people just behave themselves? They could have stayed on Bedlama or wherever, where there's food, and decent lodging, and the chance that you're not going to die from a disease that's been eradicated on every civilized planet in the universe!" He slumped against the damp wall and grimaced. "It's all such a fucking waste."

"It's only a 'fucking waste' to people like you."

"It is," he insisted, "when these people could be living useful lives, contributing to society. It's all wasted here." He pushed away from the wall. "Forget it. Let's keep moving."

"How little you know," she shook her head, "and how prejudiced you are."

He said nothing, stalking ahead of her with a long stride that made her work to keep up. They reached the next door, and Quicksilver reared back and kicked it open before Zan had a chance to knock. She cast him an evil glare and stomped past into the room, only to be knocked back as a small body hurled itself past her legs. She turned and snatched the crying child up in her arms. Zan turned back to face the room, then he heard a muffled sound, between a cough and a choke. She thrust the toddler out at him, then pushed her way further in through a wall of stench ten times worse than anything in the other rooms.

Jon looked down at the child, awkwardly thrust into his arms. It was sniffling, the worst of the tears over, it seemed, until it looked up at him. Then the rosebud mouth opened wide, and a piercing scream issued forth. The suddenness of it was a shock, and Jon's grip loosened enough for the child to squirm free and slide to the ground, running hell-bent for leather down the lane.

Zan came out, another screaming, squirming bundle in her arms. She looked at his devoid-of-child arms and sighed. "It shouldn't have been that hard," she sighed. She closed the door one-handed, then sprayed a large red 'X' on the door, with a 2 under it. "Come on. I want to get this poor thing up to the clinic so it can continue to be a 'fucking waste' and not contribute to society."

The long walk back to the main chambers was filled with angry silence, broken only by the hitching sobs of the baby and their separate footsteps. Zan paused long enough at a warehouse-turned-daycare to drop off the baby. Then it was a trudging journey back to the clinic. Once inside, Zan led him silently down the labyrinth of corridors to a small storage room. "Get started folding these up," she said wearily. I'm going to arrange some transport. Don't count on it being fancy, though."

She left him there, and he studied the room's contents. Shelves on three of the walls were stacked high with one thing: body bags.

He was down to the final shelf when she returned and wordlessly began to carry his neat stacks out. He followed her with the last load, and they exited the back of the clinic. She'd produced a wheeled cart that, with some careful driving, would make it through the narrow alleys of the Warrens.

Jon set the last load into the back of the cart and looked around. "Who's doing the removal?" he asked.

She shot him another tired look, 'How-Stupid-Are-You #42,' and moved out, pushing it behind her. "Three guesses. First two don't count."

Jon froze in place. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. No one said anything about the possibility of removing infected remains. That requires trained professionals and special gear and decontamination areas. This isn't the damned Middle-Ages."

"That's where you're wrong, Lieutenant. Aside from a few advantages, this is very much the Middle-Ages. These people don't have time for special teams with special equipment and special training to be brought in, assuming you could find one that wouldn't say 'not our jurisdiction.' So it's you, me, and a stack of bags. Be glad they're not winding sheets." She watched him standing there in astonishment, and sighed. "Don't make me order you. I don't have the energy to get angry anymore." Tiredly, she turned and trudged away, and after a moment, he followed her.

It was like living in a horror movie. Time and again, Zan adjusted the scarf over her nose and mouth, trying to block out the revolting smell, and casting envious looks at Quicksilver as his VISOR automatically provided him with clean-filtered air.

"You're right about one thing, Lieutenant," she said as they stacked yet another body on the wobbly cart. "This is a waste. One huge fucking waste." She turned and marked out the red number painted on the door with a burst of black paint, and the trudged on to the next door.

Zan moved through the locker room in an exhaustion-fueled daze, shedding filthy, reeking clothing as she went. Growing up with 8 siblings, casual nudity had never bothered her, and now, the call of hot water was much more enticing than the thought of her wardrobe, especially when said wardrobe smelled of the charnel house. She and Jon had shifted more than 50 bodies, and as much as she hated to admit it, he had pulled his own weight, working without complaint or much comment at all, really, and somehow, it made it that much harder to hate him.

She turned her face up into the needle-fine spray of hot water, letting it rinse away the smell of the bodies. But it couldn't touch the memory in her hands of the feeling, or the sight of so many people she knew, cold and dead. She ignored the tears when they fell, pretending they were just part of the stinging spray of the shower.

The water ran cold by the time she felt ready to leave, not that it had ever been really hot to begin with, and she sighed in resignation at the rough texture of the towel she pulled from the shelf. Lord knew she had hotter water at her own place, and more of it, along with much better towels to use. But that was too far away from the heart of the action at the moment. Commander Stargazer's contrived assignment made it necessary to stick at least somewhat close to the Golden Boy, and she had no interest in hauling him back to her place for a good look around.

She dragged on a clean jumpsuit, grimacing when the fabric stuck to damp patches of her body, and she plucked at it for a few minutes before giving up in disgust and bending down to pull on clean socks and her boots. Several rows of lockers away, she heard the tell-tale squeak of the door opening, but ignored it. The shower facilities were small, but there were enough people working through the crisis that she wasn't surprised to have company. She double-knotted the laces on her boots and straightened up, preparing to leave, when the concrete walls and steel lockers funneled a whispered voice straight to her ears.

"C'mon, love. You know you want another go.'

Zan suppressed a snort. She'd recognize Ricky's voice and his unmistakable accent anywhere. He'd told her once a particular girl had caught his eye, and she wondered idly if he'd finally cornered her.

"Mmmmm, Ricky. No, wait. If Mon*Star finds out, he'll tear us apart."

Zan swore under her breath when she heard his companion. Damn. If anyone knew better than to risk Mon*Star's wrath, it was Mel. And here she was, snuggling up to someone in a move that could very easily get her killed. And not for the first time, it sounded like.

Quickly, she rounded the corner to confront the pair, tucked into an alcove where the next row of lockers didn't quite connect with the wall. There wasn't much to see from her position, but it was pretty clear that they'd intended to have quite a bit more privacy, and Ricky's hand was somewhere it definitely shouldn't be, at least if he wanted Mon*Star to leave it in one piece. She banged on the lockers to separate them.

"Hello there. Normally, I'd say 'get a room,' but I think it might be inadvisable in this case." She caught Mel's eye and jerked her head toward the door, mouthing, 'later.' Mel took the hint and slipped past her and out of the room, straightening her shirt at the same time.

Once Mel was safely gone, she turned and focused her attention on Ricky, who was leaning against the wall with a studied casual air. "Well?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Well, what?" he snapped back turning on all his baby-gangster attitude. But as she leveled a gaze at him, he had the decency to blush, turning his face the same color as his hair. "Dinnit mean ta get caught," he muttered.

"Of course you didn't." She sighed. "Not that I have anything against you two pairing up, but damn boy, do you have a death wish or something? You know bloody well that Snagglepuss has laid claim to her. You might be an arrogant snot-nosed punk, but you're a good kid at times..." She shook her head. "... Just...be careful."

He nodded too quickly, and she knew that no matter what she said, they were going to go right on doing whatever they pleased. "You're not gonna give the game away, are you, Zan?"

"Hell, no. Old One-Eye is the kill-the-messenger type. But don't ask me to lie for you, either. I didn't actually see anything, and I'd like to keep it that way. So no hanky-panky at my place, either."

He flashed her a quick grin. "Thanks, Zan. You're the best."

"Don't thank me. I haven't done anything." She watched him as he slipped past her toward the door. "And Ricky? Stay out of the women's locker room. It's no place for nice young men."

"I ain't nice," he tossed over his shoulder before the door swung closed behind him.

"I noticed," Zan said dryly to herself.

By the time she caught up with him, Quicksilver had found a clean set of coveralls and a shower somewhere. She wondered idly for a moment if he had removed to armor to wash, then decided that she really didn't want to know. He was staring at a dark computer terminal, a fairly unhappy expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, dropping into a chair next to him.

"It hit Bedlama," he said tiredly. "They have the victims contained in isolation at the hospital there, but it's forced the Commander to take some serious action to assure people we're on top of this."

"What's the bottom line?" Zan asked, greatly fearing she would not like the answer.

"Fense has been put under Quarantine," Jon said.

"You can't do that!" Zan protested. "We're beyond the Limit. We're outside SIlverHawk jurisdiction."

"I know," he replied. "So the Limit has been cut off. Nothing will be allowed to cross, in either direction. We're here until it's over, one way or the other."

"What about the supplies that were due?"

"I don't know what it's status is, but if it didn't get through, it's not coming."

"Fucking Hell!" She growled as she slammed her fist into the nearest solid object.

"It wasn't my decision, okay?! The Commander didn't have any choice. People were hounding him from every side to cross the Limit and thermo-strike this place, jurisdiction or not. He did the best he could." Jon sighed. "He did his best," he repeated.

"You're preaching to the choir so save it," she replied in a dead tired voice as she leaned back in the chair, absently examining her hand that she had slammed into the desk earlier.

He stared at her hand as well, watching as it swelled and reddened. "There's a message for you in the file, from Steelheart. I just turned the monitor off. It should still be right there." He stood and stepped back fro the terminal. 'There are cots set up around here, somewhere. I'm going to catch some rest."

She grunted softly as she attempted to flex her fingers. They moved a little so nothing was broken... this time. "Yeah...down the hall to the left, 4th door on the right."

He nodded. "Wake me when there's something to do." He heard the hiss and crackle as she turned the monitor on, and walked away.

He was falling head-first through the black of space, the screaming of children in his ears. Rolling and thrashing, Quicksilver woke from his nap with his back bent at an uncomfortable angle, following the line of the half-collapsed cot, head resting inches above the floor. He looked up and saw Zan standing over him, drawing back the foot she'd just used to kick out the legs at the end of the cot. "Rise and shine, Golden Boy," Zan commented as she walked off, cup of coffee in hand.

Jon struggled to his feet, scrubbing at his face and consulting the chronometer built into his armor. "It's the middle of the night," he said, following her down the corridor. "What's happening?"

"The supply ship made it through the blockade." She stopped and turned to face him. "The pilot is one of my people, someone I trust. He said that the Mirage only gave him a token amount of resistance before he was able to slip through. Why?"

Quicksilver mulled it over a moment. Bluegrass should have been able to fly rings around any bulky cargo ship, no matter who the pilot might be. "Did Commander Stargazer know you were expecting another ship?"

Zan shrugged. "I didn't say anything specific about it. I'm sure the freighter pilot made his cargo and intensions clear."

Jon nodded to himself. "The Commander probably told Bluegrass to make it look good, then let him through. But I don't think you can count on an easy trip the other way."

"They all volunteered for this. None of them have families to return to so they know they are here for the stay until things get back to normal."

Jon pulled his hat down low and ducked his head to avoid the glares from those well enough to notice him as they made their way through the converted marketplace. "Just so you know that's the last shipment you're going to get. If it isn't here now, we aren't going to have it."

"Who's this 'we,' white man?"

"I'm here, aren't I? What else do you want?" he asked as they trudged uphill toward the surface.

"You're only here because you were ordered to help. I'd be willing to put down money that you still don't give a tinker's dam what happens to these people."

"Just because I don't approve of what they're doing doesn't mean I want them to die," he retorted. "There's a long way from dislike to homicidal fantasies."

"Uh-huh. Not around here." Zan stomped away, and it was Jon who was forced to keep up.

They emerged from the tunnel to find supplies piling up, thanks to the hard work of several Loader pilots. They used the heavy machinery to lift and move crates from the ship where it had landed across the open plain to the tunnel entrance.

"Why didn't we use these before?" Jon asked, watching in amazement as the equipment shifted more than a ton of cases.

Zan snorted and tossed him a pair of the yokes she'd carried up. "One of those monsters would fill the HummingBird. I had to chose between it and the vaccine, and the vaccine was more important."

He watched the large-scale ballet for another few minutes. "Will would be like a kid in a candy store with one of those things," he murmured.

"Why would he need one of those? Between him and his sister, he can do all that moving without using a loader." Zan said as she hooked the first load up.

"Will likes toys, the bigger, the better. Besides, the two of them could lift even more with a set of those...things."

"Loaders. Short for Anti-gravitation load manipulation system. They are designed for heavy duty work in mining and moving."

He watched as she eyed the pilots carefully. "And you just happen to keep a fleet of them handy."

"It's called the cost of operations in a import/export shipping business." She shouldered her poles and set off. "This stuff isn't going to move itself any further, Lieutenant. May as well get a move on."

When the main unloading was finished, the Loader pilots returned them to their place inside the Hauler and locked them down so that they could start helping on the mountain of cases. Each one grabbed a set of the poles and started transferring the stuff down to where ever it needed to go. With their help it went to over a days worth of work to just hours. Once it was all over, they gathered around her for orders.

"All right, ladies and gents. First off, each one of you will get two weeks fully paid vacations anywhere you want to go." She held her hand up to forestall any comments. "IF we survive all of this, that is. It's the least I can do. I never asked you to come here and risk your lives, you chose to do so on your own. I know for a fact that there was a big debate on who would volunteer. I'm glad to see that logic ruled out. None of you have families to worry about. That I'm glad about. I have always hated passing on the bad news to loved ones. Even if I do end up handing a quarter-mill comp check over." She looked at each one as she spoke. "It doesn't bring back the dead."

There were nods and mutters of agreement from the group. Off to the side, within hearing distance Jon stood, watching and listening.

She looked down at a clipboard she had in hand, flipping through the data pages. "All right, we're going to need to go through all this stuff to find the following items..." She ran off a long list. All of it near vital medical equipment. "Our luck it's going to be buried at the back bottom of the stacks. The cases of body bags, leave them where they are easily gotten to. I know they are going to be used. No getting around that fact. All the kitchen equipment is going to be used to set up a soup kitchen. No one's had any time to do anything. Make sure all the corresponding food items gets there along with it. If you have experience in cooking, help is appreciated. Uncle Wong Lee can only do so much. Once your assignment is finished, check in with either Tika or me, if you can find me that is, and if neither can be found, grab a meal and a cot." She looked back up from the board. "Oh, all extra cots are going to the Club. It's not being used and there is plenty of space. I've already asked about it so it's clear. All right, Ladies and Gents. Get to work"

There was a chorus of acknowledgements before everyone turned to the Bedlamian woman called Tika. As they all scattered to work, Zan stepped back away from them to lean against a crate. Letting out a tired sigh, she rubbed absently at a place on her arm. She was down to her last Stim-Patch and it had to last. She couldn't get access to anymore and running for more then a couple of days on them was dangerous. She had been at it now for nearly nine days.

Late evening rolled around when the last of the crates had been unpacked and the items put away. Zan was carrying a load of blankets when everything hit her suddenly. 'shit, not now' was all she could think as her legs buckled under her and all went black.

Mel was rounding a corner at the same time that Zan collapsed and she let out a banshee's screech of alarm that could be heard all through the Patch-n-go.

Jon had been carrying his own load when he heard that god awful shriek and shoved the blankets into the nearest person's arms before he took off at a dead sprint. When he rounded the corner, he found a young woman sitting on the floor cradling Zan's head in her lap trying to get her to respond.

"Come on Zan, wake up...do something, anything..." she was saying softly as she kept alternating between either patting Zan's cheek or brushing her hand through her hair.

"What happened?" Jon asked dropping to a knee.

"I don't know...I was coming around the corner when she just collapsed." The young woman said is a panicky voice.

Jon reached out and took her wrist, sliding the much-hated visor down. "Her pulse is all over the place," he announced. "Find me a cot for her."

He scooped Zan up, and the young woman scurried away in front of him, leading him to the recovery room.

The young woman deftly flipped back the covers on one of the beds and got out of the way. As Jon was laying her down she noticed something. "Oh lord no..." she whispered to herself as she reached over and turned Zan's head, brushing back the hair off her neck. Several medium sized dots could now be seen.

Jon looked up sharply at her. "What is it?"

Mel ignored him a moment as she counted the number of dots she could see then started to undo the coveralls Zan was wearing. Jon stepped out of the way as he averted his eyes at first till he realized she was wearing a tank top under it. "What are you looking for?"

"Stim-Patch dots."

"What dots?"

"Stim-Patches. Damn it all Zan, why?" Me said absently as she finished stripping Zan of everything but her tank top and panties. When Jon realized that Mel was stripping her completely, he had turned away.

"I haven't heard of them. What are they?" he asked, still facing away.

"Uppers of a sort, stimulants. They keep you from having to sleep. Only suppose to be used for a max of three days. And you can turn around now." Mel said. She had found the last patch that Zan had been wearing. "They look like this." She said handing the used patch to him.

He frowned as he turned back around, taking the patch. It was slightly sweaty and sticky on one side. The other had the name of the product and it's warnings and ingredients. The Logo was one he was not familiar with. When he glanced over to Zan, who was now covered past her chest, he could see how pale her skin was. He also noted the number of fine white lines that criss-crossed her exposed skin.

Jon would have said more, but Dr. Richardson arrived at the moment.

"What happened?" he asked as he started to check her over.

"She collapsed. Stim-patch withdrawal." Mel said, pointing out the bright indigo blue dots on Zan's pale flesh.

"Aahh.. " the doctor nodded. "We'll set her up on a saline IV and some antibiotics. Other then that, we will have to wait for her to come around on her own. How many?"

"I've counted over a dozen. Probably since day one."

"Hmm...at least nine days then." Dr. Richardson nodded. "If she does not come around in three to four days, then we shall start worrying."

"Three to four DAYS?" Jon asked, stunned. "You're going to wait that long?"

"You should understand something here, Lieutenant. These things don't do away with the need for sleep. They simply put it off. If that's all she sleeps, I'll be surprised."

"I should have realized something was up. Every time I mentioned something about getting some rest she put it off, saying she'd crash in a little while." Mel said softly as she brushed a few strands of hair away from Zan's cheek.

"You know very well how stubborn she is," Richardson said. The supplies he requested arrived, and he set her up on an IV. "The next few hours will be critical. The abuse of the Stim-patches may have affected her immune system and lowered her defenses. We'll have to watch her very carefully for signs of TB infection."

"Should we move her someplace contained?" Jon asked, staring down at her.

Richardson shook his head. "No. She's exposed. If she's going to get it, it's too late to do anything about it."

"I'll keep an eye on her." Ricky said from the doorway.

"I'd like you to take shifts, if that's possible. She shouldn't be left unattended until she wakes on her own."

Jon disliked the fact that Timestopper had shown up and was the first to volunteer to keep an eye on her. It was just.. wrong. A known criminal and a member of the Mob doing something like this. But then again, he had seen the loyalty she had inspired in so many people. Just by being herself. "I'll take the late night one." That would give him time to speak with SteelHeart about some things. He hoped.

Consciousness slowly came trickling back to her after too long of being without it. Besides the throbbing of her skull, she could sense somewhat distantly a barely stirring air current across her arms and shoulders, soft bed sheets under and over her, and a cold trickling sensation in the back of one hand. Her eyes didn't want to obey her command to open and when they did, the lids felt gummy and grainy. The light was at a semi medium setting, but enough that she could make out hazy outlines of other beds.

'Must be in one of the recovery rooms' she thought distantly. 'how did I get here?'

She heard the door opening and several people enter but didn't have the energy to open her eyes again. A hand enclosed about hers as a hand gently brushed back the strands that had somehow found their way across her face.

"How is she?" A distant male voice.

"Better then last time." Soft and closer, feminine sounding. "She's not going though as much fluids now."

"That's good I take it."

"Yeah."

Anything else was lost as she went back under once more.

This time when she came to again, the lights were at low. Her head wasn't pounding as badly as it had been earlier and she didn't feel as drained. It took her several tries before she was able to reach over and remove the IV from her arm and sit up.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed she absently noted the lack of clothing. Not bothering to look for any she wrapped the sheet about her and made her way unsteadily to the door. Along the way she kept having to brush her hair out of her face.

Quicksilver was sitting at the com station. He had just finished his latest report to the Commander and was staring at the blank screen when he heard a voice from one of the doorways. One that was rougher and more gravely then he was use to hearing from the person.

"What time is it? How long have I been out?"

He whipped around in the chair, startled by the sudden appearance of Zan. She was standing there, using the doorframe for balance and wrapped in the bed sheet. Her hair was tangled and half-obscuring her face as a small trickle of blood made it's way down one hand. Even at this distance he could see that she was having a hard time in focusing her eyes.

Jon watched as her knees suddenly buckled. He started to lunge out of the chair to catch her when he saw Timestopper and Mel appear between one eye blink and the next, catch her. He frowned slightly as he straightened and approached, hating the fact Timestopper used his ability like that and he could do nothing about it.

"Close to three and a half days." Jon said.

Zan just looked at him, blinking several times before looking at both Mel and Ricky. "Wha..?"

"Cricky Zan, ya 'ad us scared there for the first day or so." Ricky said.

"Sorry about that kiddo..." she murmured, reaching over to pat his arm. "Three and a half days, huh? Feel like it," she said, stretching. "What's the situation?"

"Stabilizing," Jon said, turning away as she pushed the blanket back. "No new cases in 48 hours, and a number of patients have turned the corner toward recovery."

Zan stood slowly, leaning on Mel and Ricky. "And deaths?" she asked.

Jon turned back around to face her. "You shouldn't worry about that now. Dr. Richardson said you'd be shaky on your feet for a few days. You don't need to add to the stress by-"

"Just tell me the goddamn number, Lieutenant," she gritted out though clenched teeth.

He sighed. "15 since you first collapsed. That makes the total-"

"167," Zan said quietly.

"And your teams finished crawling the tunnels. They brought in 20 more bodies we weren't able to find." He watched her face crumple then harden.

"God, is it ever going to end? Tell me there's some good news," she said, slumping into a chair.

"Everyone who makes it is getting the vaccination," Mel said. "And everyone who wasn't infected got the shot already. So it won't happen again."

"Not for a while, anyway," Zan said. She pushed herself slowly to her feet. "Okay. Let's get back to it."

Mel and Ricky shared a look, then the young woman cast a quick glance at Jon. He nodded sharply, then looked at Zan. "We need someone to go through the photos of the victims and make identifications. Dr. Richardson has already told us that if you try to do too much right away, you'll collapse."

Zan opened her mouth to protest, but the identical looks on the faces of the others told her she would get no where arguing with them. "Fine," she said in a huff. "Find me a desk, and I'll get to work."

The quarantine was near at an end. Those that had survived it were picking up the pieces of their lives. And those that had not survived were waiting till someone either claimed them, or got rid of the empty husk that were once their bodies.

Quicksilver was about to enter Phantom's office when he paused, her door was open and she was speaking with someone.

"Yeah, I need a half a dozen Wake Angels."

He could make out the slightly muffled replies from the other side of the conversation. Who ever it was had an accent that he couldn't place.

"A half a dozen? Why so many? One will do the job."

"Because I want to ensure nothing is left. We don't need another outbreak because someone came across some of the remains, that's why."

"Shit. Your serious about this."

"Deathly. Over two hundred were lost because of this. That's a large chunk for a population that numbers only just over a thousand at any given time."

"All right When do you need them?"

"Yesterday?" she asked with a tired sigh. "Listen, StefI wouldn't ask if I knew of any other way to get those things. They are reserved for space side burial. You know that."

"Yes, I do. All right, I'll have one of the fastest cruisers sent with the request. Anything else while you're asking for things? We owe you still. Are you sure you won't take up that offer? It's still open."

"Nothing that I can think of at this time." She chuckled softly. "I'm sure. I let you get away with what you did before, but that was it. I'll call you later and catch up on the gossip. Pass it on to the kids I said hey."

"Sounds like a deal. I will. Oh, Zannatasia? Get some rest. You look like hell."

"Yes, Lord Commander." She snorted as the connection went dead.

Quicksilver stood there in thought a moment, filing away what he had heard. Instead of entering the office like he planned, he turned and walked away.

Several days later

Everyone that was able had gathered in the wide open area of Fense. Everyone that was able to make it that is. They had come to say farewell to their departed friends and families. Everyone held a lit candle. The flames creating a soft glow in the darkness of the desolate rock that was called home by all gathered.

In the distant a large rusted hull floated gently, having been towed there then set adrift. Nestled inside were the empty shells of those that did not survive the epidemic.

Quicksilver and the rest of the SilverHawks stood off to one side. At the front of the crowd was Phantom, also holding a lit candle. She turned her head and nodded to someone unseen. Softly at first, then gaining in volume a song played. A song that was not one typically played at a funeral.

I am not here  
I think I've never been here at all  
Or ever will be  
I feel like a place  
Where no one goes anymore  
Why can't you see that everything's broken  
Why does it seem this life's turned gray?  
I can't believe in anything sacred  
When I don't believe that I am real

I need someone to break the silence  
That's screaming in my head  
And in my soul.

It seems so bizarre  
But none of this matters  
Thoughts disappear, and hope have died  
Now that I'm safe, nothing can hurt me here.  
Why can't you see my need for forgiveness?  
The truth and the lies, so confused as one.  
I can't believe in anything sacred  
When I don't believe in anything

I need someone to break the silence  
That's screaming in my head  
And in my soul.

I am alone  
Locked in my memories  
There's nowhere left for me to hide  
But I am not real  
I've made all that I am with lies  
Why does it seem that everything's different?  
Why does it seem that only you are real?  
I don't believe in anything sacred  
So why does do I feel so damned alone?

I need someone to break the silence  
That's screaming in my head  
And in my soul

As the song died away, Phantom was the first to blow out her candle. Those closest to her were next, then the next and the next. Like a spreading shadow of darkness the light vanished in a puff of breath.

When the last was out, Phantom depressed the switch on the small cylinder she held. In the distant, the hull turned funeral barge ignited in an incandescent glow that grew brighter and larger. The light caused shadows to crawl across the ground. Many had to shield their eyes from the glow. When the light finally faded, everyone was gone. No one was left but Phantom and the SilverHawks.

She just turned and nodded once to Quicksilver before walking to her waiting ship. The song seeming to echo softly back to the team as they watched her board the Hummingbird and leave. Vanishing into the darkness of space.

(Why by Stabbing Westward)


End file.
